


The Law for the Wolves

by Kat_o_nine_Tails



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Canonical Child Abuse, Did I Mention Angst?, Gen, Injustice, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Moral Ambiguity, Panic Attacks, Peter Pettigrew has Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts, Werewolf Severus Snape, non-graphic, prepare for angst, refers to Severus' father
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:14:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22258531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_o_nine_Tails/pseuds/Kat_o_nine_Tails
Summary: This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be just another prank. A way to teach Snivellus to keep his abnormally large nose out of their business.James wasn’t supposed to return in tears, covered in blood that wasn’t his own, carrying an unconscious Snape in his arms.And Snape wasn’t supposed to have the mark of Moony’s teeth on his shoulder…
Comments: 119
Kudos: 236





	1. Severus

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a writing exercise, a 'what if Snape actually got bitten' theory, and rapidly spiralled out of my control. This will not be a happy story, at least not at first, and I'll be adding tags as they get relevant, but first and foremost, this is not a happy story.

Severus cursed Black, Black’s posse, this entire godforsaken night and his own idiocy as he crawled through the hidden passage that, supposedly, led to the place Lupin was hiding.

The rational part of his mind, the one that concocted improvements to every potion he saw and invented spells he dreamed of setting on his enemies, was telling him he was walking into a trap. If his suspicions were correct, and they usually were, Lupin was a bloody _werewolf!_ If Black was telling the truth, he was either sending Severus to a bogus location, or he was sending him off to die.

Knowing Black, both were equally likely. It just depended on whether he hated Severus more or less than he loved Lupin.

Severus had debated long and hard with himself, whether it was worth it to go and see if his suspicions were indeed correct. On the one hand, he would be putting himself in close proximity to a werewolf. Anyone with half a brain could figure out that was a Bad Idea.

On the other hand, if Lupin was indeed a werewolf, on Hogwarts grounds, going to school with over a thousand other students, and Severus managed to see it with his own eyes… All he had to do was send a Memory Vial to Lucius, and more than half the problems in his life would disappear, just like that! Those accursed Marauders, as they called themselves, would fall apart and Severus could, for the first time since he began attending Hogwarts, actually relax and stop looking over his shoulder every waking moment. 

He would be _free_.

Besides, Severus had lost his only friend because of them. Let them get a taste of their own medicine.

So he gathered every scrap of bravery he had, took a deep breath, and snuck after Lupin when he started walking out of the castle. He was carrying some kind of bag with him, possibly for some nefarious purpose. Severus waited for him to be out of sight, then cautiously followed.

That was at sundown.

Now, Severus was practically running down the dirty tunnel, wondering how much time he had left. His heart was pounding hard enough to break out of his ribcage, or at least it felt that way. Even as he was running he could hear the more rational part of his brain screaming at him. _You are going to die,_ it said. _You will be torn apart._

 _But it could all be worth it,_ Severus argued back. No more hexes in the hallway. No more broken things he couldn’t afford to replace. No more of that constant fear of shadows that somehow always knew where he was no matter what path he took. No more attackers that somehow managed to sneak up on him no matter how vigilant he was.

No more fucking _monsters_ humiliating him with his own spells.

So Severus went on.

And found himself before a door.

Somewhat nonsensically, he felt like the girl from that Muggle story his mother liked to mock. Alice in Wonderland, standing before a door she could not fit through. If Severus remembered correctly, she only got through because she started crying and got carried away on a wave of her own tears.

He hoped it wasn’t prophetic.

He could hear something heavy moving behind the door. A wardrobe or a table being dragged across the floor. And Severus may have been the farthest thing from a Gryffindor, but he wasn’t a _coward,_ so even though his heart was doing its best to beat its way out through his throat he went forward, and put his hand on the doorknob.

He swung the door open abruptly, and opened his eyes to-

Lupin, in only his pants and a bathrobe, dragging a tea table with a bottle of Firewhisky and four shot glasses on it. 

It was hard to say who was more shocked, but Lupin recovered first.

“Snape?! What the fuck are you doing here?!”

Lupin’s voice was startled and veered more towards panic with every word, but Severus couldn’t hear it over the buzzing in his ears.

So. It wasn’t a trap, nor a trick. Just another mockery the Marauders made of Severus Snape. Lupin wasn’t a werewolf, he would have transformed by now if he was, and those bastards had probably laughed themselves sick at Severus’ ridiculous theories. They were probably setting up another prank right now, and Severus just got here too early. 

“What?” Severus snapped, both relieved and hurt, and then finally angry, “Disappointed I got here before you got your costume on?”

Lupin paled at that, tried to splutter out a sentence and failed. Severus decided to take it as a positive answer. He all but stomped over to Lupin and shoved him, _hard._

“‘You want to see what really happens on the full moon?’ Black said. ‘Come and find out,’ he said. ‘Find out what _really_ goes on in there.’ More of your drunken shenanigans, I see!” for some reason, Severus was almost disproportionately angry at them. It was far from the worst thing they’d done to him, and with two more years of school left it probably won’t be the last, but this was cruel in ways they didn’t plan it to be. To raise his hopes like that, and then dash them the same night.

They tortured him even without intending to.

“Snape, you need to leave, _now!_ ” Lupin looked on the verge of hyperventilating, “I’m serious!”

“Oh, and here I thought you were Lupin,” Severus bit out sarcastically. Merlin, if he never heard that stupid joke again…

“ _Dammit Snape!_ ” Lupin snarled, yes, snarled at him and quicker than Severus knew what was happening, his arm was in Lupin’s vice-like grip, “Leave now, while you still can! It’s only a matter of time before- Before…”

Severus finally took a good look at him, the sweat on his forehead and the paleness of his skin. The grimace of pain on his face and the shaking of his hand. Something was going on with Lupin, and trick or no trick Severus got the feeling he really should be getting out of there. He took a step back, but that was as far as he made it before Lupin’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“Let me go,” he ordered quietly and tried to extract his arm but Lupin’s grip tightened past the point of pain and to the point of bruising. Severus let out a hiss and tried to yank himself away, but Lupin wasn’t paying him any mind.

Beyond the shack, in the starry night sky, a strong gust of wind chased away the dark clouds and revealed the brilliant face of the full moon.

Remus Lupin’s eyes turned amber.

Severus found himself knocked down on the floor with a werewolf looming over him. He could hear a deep, chest reverberating growl coming from somewhere.

Lupin. It was coming from Lupin.

_Severus was right._

He could only freeze in absolute terror as Lupin’s bones started cracking, breaking and reshaping _right above him,_ and the bathrobe fell away from his shoulders to reveal sprouting _fur,_ and oh God and Merlin and whoever was listening, _Lupin was a werewolf._

And Severus was right underneath his teeth.

Lupin dropped on all fours, his arms - soon to be his front legs - caging Severus in. He flipped over on his belly and tried to crawl away, towards the door he _left open,_ shit, he had to get it closed and barred behind him or Lupin would tear apart half of Hogwarts. 

He got maybe two feet away before an enormous paw landed between his shoulder blades, knocking the air out of his lungs and flattening him with the floor. Severus tried to get up on his elbows, to crawl away if he had to, but he couldn’t.

Lupin growled deep and loud, right next to Severus’ right ear. He froze on the spot, not even breathing as his heart beat a bloody drum roll. Like it was announcing death’s arrival on the stage. The last stage of Severus’ life.

...Which was taking its sweet time coming, actually.

Maybe Lupin still had some of his faculties intact, because instead of biting Severus he was… sniffing him? Severus raised his shoulders closer to his head, because what the hell? But the moment he did the growling returned. Lupin’s other paw shifted next to his hip, where his wand-

_His wand._

Shit, he was in a horrible position to try and reach for it, if he moved now he would probably lose an arm or worse, get bitten. He needed to draw Lupin’s attention away, he needed a distraction of some kind.

“ _Snape!_ Shit, Snape, get out!”

_That would do._

Lupin’s furry head shot up in the direction of Potter’s panicked yelling, and Severus yanked his wand out of its holster and twisted on his side, aiming a blasting spell at Lupin. The light shot out of his wand and hit something above him. Too late did he realise it wasn’t the creature hovering over him.

He missed. By an inch, but it was enough.

Lupin’s maw was already right next to his ear. When Severus twisted around to raise his wand, he put himself straight in the path of Lupin’s teeth.

Powerful jaws closed around his shoulder, fangs piercing straight through his flesh and scraping his shoulder blade. The venom in werewolf saliva surged into his bloodstream, burning as it went.

Severus didn’t feel it the moment it happened. Adrenaline numbed his senses to the point he only realized what was happening when he heard the cracking sound of his clavicle breaking.

He wasn’t even sure who was screaming.

Amidst the spots dancing in front of his eyes there was a flash of red light, and someone was yelling something Severus couldn’t understand. Then there were hands on him, human hands, and there might not have been much Severus could comprehend past the shock to his system, but that tidbit managed to get through to him. He could feel cloth beneath his cheek, and arms around him, presence of another human, and that was all it took.

Severus passed out.


	2. James

It was amazing how quickly everything went to shit.

It was the middle of the night on a full moon, and instead of prancing through the Forbidden Forest with his friends, James Potter was sitting in the infirmary covered in blood.

The fact that it wasn’t his own blood somehow made it even worse.

Madame Pomfrey tried to get him to go to his dorms, to change his clothes and try to go to sleep, but she gave up after James shot her one devastated look and went to wake up the Headmaster.

The Headmaster. Dumbledore. The only reason Moony was even allowed to attend Hogwarts, despite his furry condition. He was going to be expelled for this. Shit, they were all going to get expelled for this, but Moony was going to be lucky if they managed to keep him out of Azkaban. Being a werewolf was one thing, but actually biting someone was- Was...

Merlin and Morgana, what the fuck was Sirius thinking?! They were lucky Snape wasn’t dead! If James had come a minute later-

But if he’d come a minute sooner, he wouldn't be sitting in the infirmary covered in Snape’s blood, hovering over him and trying to stop his own tears from soaking his face.

Snape was still as death on the sickbed. Madame Pomfrey had to dose him with a Sleeping Draught to keep him still enough to peel away his robes and put silver and Dittany on his wound. His usually sallow skin was now the colour of fresh parchment, at least in places where it wasn’t translucent enough to see his veins.

James couldn’t tear his wet eyes away from Snape’s scrawny chest, scared to death the subtle movements would stop and the Slytherin would perish right in front of him.

So James sat in the infirmary chair with his knees under his chin and his arms around his legs, forcing himself not to shake through sheer force of will. The Headmaster was going to be here soon, he had to keep a clear head if he wanted to keep Moony’s head off the chopping block. It wasn’t even his fault, he had no control over his actions once the moon was full and clear in the sky. But Sirius-

Cernunnos help him, why the fuck would Sirius _do that?_ What was he thinking, sending Snape to the Shrieking Shack? Even if he wasn’t thinking about what would happen to Snape, how could he do that to Remus? Even if the worst that happened was that Snape found out Remus was a werewolf they would have been in deep shit, but this?

What in the world were they supposed to do now?

“Oh dear, this is not good,” James turned around to see Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey, both still in their nightgowns, standing behind him with worried faces. It was Dumbledore that had spoken, a severe look in his eyes as he looked down at Snape’s prone form.

“Headmaster,” James greeted with a hoarse voice, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know- I got there as fast as I could but I was too late. I’m sorry-”

“My boy,” Dumbledore’s eyes softened as they turned to him, “I think that, out of everyone here, you have the least to be sorry for. From what Poppy tells me, if it wasn’t for you, we would be having a far more mournful conversation.”

James could feel his heart sink right down to the floor. Or maybe it was his stomach, considering how nauseous he suddenly felt. Yeah, probably his stomach.

“Please,” James’ voice sounded like it was breaking all over again, “It wasn’t Remus’ fault. He didn’t know. You can’t send him to Azkaban, it wasn’t his fault-”

“And whose fault was it then, Mr. Potter?” Dumbledore asked, not unkindly.

James’ heart went straight to his throat. He tried to gulp it back down but it stubbornly blocked his vocal cords, choked him and sent fresh tears to his eyes.

“I see,” Dumbledore sighed, “And where is Mr. Black now?”

James wasn’t sure. He’d run into Sirius and Peter just as he’d carried Snape out of the tunnel. Peter had looked ready to pass out when he saw them but Sirius’ face went stony and he just pushed past James and went down the tunnel. If James had been in his right mind he would have yelled after him, but he was nowhere near anything that could be called sanity at the moment.

Luckily, Peter had snapped out of his stupor in a second and shaken James’ shoulders, bringing him back to reality. He’d ordered James to get Snape to the infirmary while he went to find Madame Pomfrey, and even pushed James part of the way there. Peter was fast when he wanted to be, and Madame Pomfrey had already been waiting with fresh bandages by the time James made it there.

Sirius was probably Padfoot at the moment, keeping Moony company. James had to hit him with a _Stupefy_ to get him away from Snape, but he knew it wouldn’t keep Moony down for long. He didn’t know what biting someone did to the werewolf who actually did the biting, but he couldn’t imagine Moony would be in a good mood, so maybe it was for the best.

He couldn’t actually tell that to Dumbledore, though, so he just shrugged. They were in enough trouble already, no need to keep digging.

When Dumbledore didn’t say anything further James turned his attention back to Snape. Yeah, still breathing. His shoulder and upper chest were thoroughly bandaged, and a few reddish spots had appeared while James wasn’t paying attention. 

If James tried, he was pretty sure he could make out which of Moony’s teeth had made each spot.

“James?” Peter’s plaintive voice brought him back to earth. He put his hand on James’ shoulder and shot him a look full of worry and guilt. Pomfrey and Dumbledore had moved away to have a hushed conversation and Peter had made it back in the meantime.

“I’m sorry. I tried to talk him out of it, but he kept saying it would be fine. That Snape was just going to get scared and run away, and that would teach him to mind his own business,” Peter looked at Snape, seeing the same thing James was thinking of, “I should have tried harder.”

“It’s not your fault, Pete,” James assured him automatically, but the words were empty. Because it really _was_ their fault. If Sirius had actually stopped to think for five minutes, if Peter had managed to talk him down, if James had made it to the Shack in time…

But none of those things happened. And now Snape and Remus would be paying the price.

“What are we going to do?” Peter asked. He sounded lost, and James wished he had an answer for him.

“Madame Pomfrey said we need to watch him until morning,” James told him instead, “If he makes it through the night, that means he’ll live. But he’ll be like Moony.”

The moment she’d said those words James had sat down and refused to move. Moony was going to hate himself come morning, but James couldn’t bear thinking about his reaction if Snape died. If they had to tell him he’d become a murderer. He’d probably try to swim to Azkaban, no Wizengamot trial needed. 

So James sat and watched Snape. He was going to hate them too, and for once he would be completely in his right to do so. They’d basically ruined his life. James was painfully aware of the social stigma werewolves faced, what Remus had feared every day of his life since he was five. Snape may be a prickly bastard far too interested in the Dark Arts for anyone’s good, but not even he deserved this. This was literally a fate he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

“Padfoot’s with Moony,” Peter offered after a minute, “I went to check on them, after I told Pomfrey what happened. James, Moony’s… really mad. When I left Padfoot was trying to stop him from ramming the walls down. Remus will probably be feeling it for the next _week_.”

“Somehow, I get the feeling that won’t be what will hurt Remus the most,” James bit out before he could stop himself. Peter flinched but didn’t move away. He knew what James was feeling. Knew it painfully well.

_ I should have tried harder.  _

_ I should have been faster. _

What the hell had Sirius been _thinking_?

James didn’t know, and he wouldn’t have the opportunity to ask until morning. So he stayed sitting in his chair, in his clothes covered in drying blood and counted Snape’s breaths. Thanked whatever god was listening that Moony bit Snape’s right shoulder instead of his left. Because Moony was big, far bigger than an ordinary wolf, and his teeth were of proportional size. James had seen Moony’s fangs up close. He knew damn well how long they were. And he knew what was on the other side of Snape’s ribcage, right below the place where the two biggest spots of blood stained the bandages.

If Moony had bitten Snape on his left side, it wouldn’t have mattered how fast James could have carried him to Pomfrey.

James did not dare to wonder if, perhaps, that had been the whole point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cleaned up another chapter. These are going to be rather short and change POV in every chapter to try and encompass everyone's stakes in this, and I have several chapters written already but not in chronological order.


	3. Sirius

This... wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this.

Snape was supposed to wet his pants in fear and run away like the cowardly Slytherin he was. He was supposed to get a scare so he’d think twice before poking his beaky nose where it didn’t belong. And Sirius had already planned ten different discrediting stories he was prepared to spread through the whole school if Snivellus even dared to imply Remus was anything less than human. He thought the plan was quite clever.

The possibility that Snape might actually be hurt hadn’t crossed his mind until he’d seen all the blood run out of James’ face when he’d told him what he’d done. His best friend hadn’t even said anything, he’d simply dropped his bag at Sirius’ feet and _ran._

Sirius had just stood there, stunned. It wasn’t until Peter had rammed his elbow in Sirius’ ribs that he snapped out of it and followed after James, but not before pulling Peter along with him, despite the protests. 

James wasn’t supposed to come out of the Willow’s Tunnel in tears. He wasn’t supposed to be carrying a bloodied Snape. He wasn’t supposed to be crying. Moony wasn’t supposed to be howling loud enough that they could hear him all the way on the other side of the tunnel.

And Snape wasn’t supposed to be _bitten._

Sirius was running past James and down the tunnel before he fully registered it. This… This was Snape’s own bloody fault. He was _supposed_ to run away, not go straight for Moony’s teeth! What the hell was he expecting Moony to do, let Snape pet him? He wasn’t supposed to go past the doors! Sirius had thought those were warded!

Right, they were. Against anything trying to break _out._ Dumbledore, in his infinite fucking wisdom, probably thought nobody was going to go snooping around the Whomping Willow, much less make it to the other side. 

So of course Snape had to go and fuck it up, because that’s what Snape did.

In more ways than one.

Sirius hadn’t even dared to count to the number of broken bones Madame Pomfrey had to fix. The bruises that were turning almost every inch of Remus’ moon-pale skin unflattering shades of blue and black. Remus had passed out the moment Moony lost his influence over him, and Sirius had to carry him back to the castle in a way that was far too similar to how James had carried Snape out.

Remus hadn’t been this beat up since he was still going through his transformations alone, back in first year. Worse, actually, because Moony had to exhaust himself at some point and calm down a little, but bruises and maybe a broken bone or two had always been the worst of the damage.

But this time, Moony refused to give up. Madame Pomfrey had to reset both of his shoulders because he’d dislocated them, and had to spell some weird purple concoction straight into his stomach because Moony managed to give himself a concussion.

Come Hell or high water, Moony had been dead set on breaking out tonight. And he wasn’t going to let anyone stand in his way.

Not even his friend.

Sirius massaged the back of his neck, where his hair was just barely hiding bruises that mirrored the blood spots on Snape’s bandages.

When Padfoot tried to stop him, Moony had... Not bitten him, but… Yeah, there was no other way to say it. He’d grabbed Padfoot by the scruff of his neck and shook him like he was a disobedient puppy. Then he dragged him off to the corner of the room and went on trying to bring the whole shack down around their ears.

Sirius had laid there in the corner, stunned, for what seemed like an eternity. Moony had kept out of that corner in his mad rampage, but that was the only courtesy Padfoot had been granted. 

Quite honestly, Padfoot had _felt_ like a disobedient puppy. 

He did not like it. It somehow felt even worse than his parents’ punishments, for all that the only damage was some bruised skin. But it made him feel somehow infinitely worse, guilty and uncomfortable in a way he hadn’t felt since the first time his mother had caught him listening to Muggle rock music.

Not that he was going to admit it. Fuck no.

Remus had far more bruises than he did anyway.

Sirius sat in the visitors’ chair next to Remus’ bed sullenly, glaring at his best friend who had fallen asleep in a similar position at the wrong bed. Snape looked like- Well, like he just narrowly escaped death by furious werewolf. Like _roadkill,_ as Peter had once put it. 

Speaking of Peter…

“Hey Pads,” the shortest of their friends greeted tiredly, “Brought you something.”

“I’m not hungry,” Sirius muttered. He didn’t need to turn around to know that Peter had brought a tray from the kitchens. 

Peter let out a soft sigh at the refusal, then left the tray on the nightstand with a quiet ‘if you change your mind’. He shuffled over with the other tray to wake up James and try feeding him as well.

Good old Peter, believing with his whole heart that food was the ultimate solution to whatever problem you were having. And that if there was a problem food wasn’t solving, the real problem was that you were eating the wrong food. 

He’d certainly met his match with this-- _clusterfuck_ was probably the right word.

Remus had taught him that one.

“Sirius,” his train of thought was interrupted by James’ arrival. His friend smelled horrible, like he’d rolled in something long dead and rotting. And with his blotchy face, dark bags under his eyes and his hair looking like it had survived a hurricane, his appearance matched that smell.

Sirius had the uncomfortable feeling that it might have been his fault.

“You smell like roadkill,” was what came out of his mouth instead. James frowned at him, but he was so exhausted it looked more like a weak grimace.

“I didn’t have time to change,” James muttered and crossed his arms. The sleeves of his white undershirt were stained a rusting red colour. 

Dried blood. Snape’s blood.

“Dumbledore knows,” James continued, looking at the far wall but his eyes distant, “That you sent Snape to the Willow.”

“So?” Sirius snapped waspishly, “I didn’t exactly shove him down the tunnel! He was _supposed_ to run in the other direction the moment he heard Moony! Not my fault Snivellus apparently has a death wish.”

James turned to stare at him in disbelief. “Sirius, Snape got _bitten_.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“By _Moony_.”

Sirius winced at that. He knew the implications of it, they all did. Remus was on thin ice just attending Hogwarts. Biting another student, even Death Eater scum like Snivellus, wasn’t going to get him just thrown out. It was going to get him killed. 

“So what’s the plan?” Sirius asked, “How are we getting out of this one?”

James was looking at him like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Sirius was starting to hate that look. 

“Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?!” James lost it, “Moony bit Snape! Unless you come up with a cure for lycanthropy before the next full moon _there is no getting out of this one!”_

“But it’s not Remus’ fault!” Sirius protested, “Snape shouldn’t have made it past the door!”

“He shouldn’t have made it past the Willow!” James screamed back, “And he wouldn’t have if you hadn’t drawn him a bloody map! What the hell were you thinking?!”

“I was thinking not even Snivellus would be moronic enough to go up to Moony when he was fully transformed! The moon was already high in the sky when he left, nobody told him to go and get bitten! It’s his own damn fault!”

“Are you listening to yourself?!” there was an uncomfortable note of desperation in James voice that made Sirius’ guts do an unwelcome flip, “Do you really think it matters whose _fault_ it was at this point? Pads, if the worst that happened was that Snape found out about Moony we could have fixed that. Hell, keeping it quiet wouldn’t even be hard. But he got _bitten,_ is that getting through your thick head!? There’s no way to hide this! _Remus’ head is going on the chopping block because you didn’t think to check if it was cloudy out yesterday!!!”_

“Mr. Potter, please,” Sirius whipped around to see no one other than Dumbledore interrupt them, “I understand your anger, but this is not the place to express it in such a way.”

James was straight up heaving, his chest struggling to expand and contract like it was trying to contain all their air in the room and it was still not enough. His face spelled horror and devastation, fear of his own helplessness and the conviction that he was going to see one of his best friends be put down like a dangerous criminal.

Or like a rabid animal.

Sirius tried to discreetly swallow back his bile. He would probably not be helping his case if he threw up on Dumbledore’s slippers.

Although, considering the horrifyingly garish shade of pink they were, a little puke would probably not make them any worse.

“I believe there is a way to fix this,” Dumbledore told James in a soothing voice. 

“How?” James all but begged, “Just tell us, we’ll do anything to save Remus. _Anything._ ”

“Your loyalty is commendable, my boy,” Dumbledore smiled. There was a hint of pride in his voice. “You need not worry about your friend just yet. Provided all parties agree, what happened last night will not leave this room.”

“What, really?” James asked in disbelief, “How?”

“Mr. Lupin has been attending Hogwarts for nearly five years without anybody finding out,” Dumbledore shot a reprimanding look in Sirius’ direction, “You will, of course, be serving appropriate punishment. But we have hidden one werewolf on Hogwarts grounds this long, another should not be a problem.”

“You would do that?” James asked, his voice full of hope.

“Of course,” Dumbledore smiled, “As you have said, Mr. Lupin cannot be held accountable for things out of his control. _He_ is not the one to blame.”

James’ smile immediately fell. He glanced at Sirius with obvious worry. “And Sirius?”

Dumbledore sighed. The sound sent a wave of shivers down Sirius’ spine.

“Why did you tell Mr. Snape to go to the Shrieking Shack, Mr. Black?”

“...to scare him off,” Sirius shrugged, not looking at Dumbledore, “He’s always poking his nose where he shouldn’t, and I’ve told him before he would not like what he found. He was getting close, asking where Remus went every full moon and I couldn’t let him find out. So I thought I’d give him a fright, maybe he’d stop being so nosy. He was _supposed to_ run away, and then when he’d see Remus at breakfast up and fine he’d drop it. I didn’t think he’d make it to the end of the tunnel, much less past the door.”

“Indeed, people rarely act exactly as we would expect them to,” Dumbledore stroked his beard in thought, “So it was an accident, you say. A tragic accident, perhaps, but even those should not be judged solely on the outcome.”

Sirius perked up a bit. Was the Headmaster saying what he thought he was saying?

“I hope you have very sturdy hands, Mr. Black,” Dumbledore finally nodded, “You will be scrubbing cauldrons and writing lines for a long time.”

 _But you will be doing so in Hogwarts,_ went unsaid but not unheard.

“You mean it?” James was looking at Dumbledore like he’d just descended from the heavens amongst a flock of angels. 

James always was a bit naive.

The conversation continued around Sirius but he stopped paying attention. He let out a little huff of relief. Dumbledore might act all magnanimous, but Sirius wasn’t raised by a bunch of the most paranoid Slytherins in existence for nothing. Even if he wasn’t one of them, he’d learned to read between the lines well enough.

Of course Moony wasn’t going to get in trouble. Sending a Hogwarts student to Azkaban required a damn good reason. In fact, nothing short of admitting Moony was a werewolf would be enough, and that would require Dumbledore admitting he’d let a werewolf attend school in the first place. If this whole mess was revealed to the Board of Governors Dumbledore would have been turned out on his arse, vanquisher of Grindelwald or no. This was on Dumbledore’s head, for not warding everything properly. At least, that was how the Board would see it. 

He was covering his own tracks, that was all. It worked in their favour, so Sirius wasn’t going to complain, no matter how many detentions he had to serve. Moony was safe, that was important. Everything else could be dealt with.

Sirius was no stranger to sweeping secrets under the rug. What’s one more to add to the pile?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always pictured Sirius as the kind of person who could drive even the most hardened veteran of a therapist to drink. Growing up in a family like that is bound to give a person more issues than National Geographic ever printed.


	4. Severus

When the Headmaster left, Severus simply felt numb.

He thought he was past the point of wondering what he did to deserve this, but in light of recent events, it seemed like the appropriate question to ask. Logically, he knew the answer was ‘nothing’, because shit like this had started well before he was old enough to have done anything worth a slap on the wrist, much less his father’s fists to his gut.

But life wasn’t fair, and he was a fool if he expected it to be.

He felt like a fool anyway.

Madame Pomfrey had changed his bandages with a grim look on her face as Dumbledore explained his situation with false sympathy. For all his flowery words and pretend-kindness, it was clear that there was only one choice Severus could make if he wanted to live. 

Supposedly, the official story was that Black had played a late-night prank on Severus, but had executed it poorly, getting both Severus and his friend Lupin caught in the crossfire and landing them in the infirmary. For that he would be serving detentions thrice a week for the rest of the semester. Had it not been for Potter, they would have fared much worse.

Severus almost had to admire how, technically, not a single word of that story was a lie. The fact that the original ‘prank’ was actually attempted murder was conveniently left out, and Severus doubted anyone would care to ask.

Lupin himself certainly looked the part. He actually had the indignity to look worse than Severus did. Dumbledore said he had knocked himself out trying to break free from his confinement and finish the job Potter had stopped him from doing. Namely, tearing Severus’ throat out.

Considering what actually had happened, Severus thought he would have preferred to be mauled to death.

His injuries were officially listed as a torn tendon, broken clavicle and a dislocated right shoulder, all from having been thrown into a wall by a great force. Relatively simple to fix, but he was advised to take it easy for at least a week.

He was even free to go as soon as fresh bandages had been applied.

Severus didn’t have to be told twice. He’d thrown a _Scourgify_ on his torn robes, thrown them over himself, elbowed Potter out of the way without pausing to hear what he had to say, and _ran._

Wished he’d done that before this entire mess. 

“Severus,” Regulus greeted him when Severus entered the comonroom, having been waiting for him, “Are you alright? I heard what my brother has done, did Madame Pomfrey fix you already?”

“I’m fine, Regulus, thank you for your concern,” Severus lied, “I’m just going to lie down, I’m still tired from the pain potions and I couldn’t sleep next to those bastards in the Infirmary.”

“Alright,” Regulus said dubiously, his eyes lingering too long on Severus’ torn robes, “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Severus told him and left before the younger Black could question him further. His dorm was empty, seeing as it was a Hogsmeade weekend and all of his roommates were out on dates and parties.

They’d invited Severus along yesterday. If he’d agreed, if he’d decided to suffer their cheer and semi-friendly teasing, Black never would have had the opportunity to corner him in the library.

_Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are ‘what could have been’._

Severus wondered idly why he was suddenly remembering every single bloody Muggle novel he’d ever read. Still, it was ironically appropriate.

_What could have been…_

Drawing his robes closer around himself, Severus stumbled towards the bathroom. When he closed and locked the door, he threw up every single warding spell he knew, and two he wasn’t supposed to know, then turned towards the mirror.

Merlin, he really looked ugly. Well, uglier than usual, anyway. His hair wasn’t as greasy as it was wet with fever-sweat, and the dark circles had migrated all the way around his eyes rather than stay under them, so he looked like someone had punched him in both eyes. His nose had already been broken more times than he cared to count, and it never set properly no matter how much his mother tried to cast _Episkey_. He reeked of sweat and blood, of sheer primal _fear_ and he looked-

He looked a lot like his father when he came home after a barfight.

No… He looked more like his mother when his father came home after a barfight.

Severus took a shuddering breath and turned his eyes a bit downwards.

He… Hadn’t actually processed it yet. You could say what you will about Slughorn, but his painkiller potions were good. Severus couldn’t feel a thing on his entire right side, and if it wasn’t for the limited range of motion in his shoulder he wouldn’t have known anything was wrong.

Severus took off his robes.

It didn’t look so bad. Madame Pomfrey hadn’t even put him in a sling once she’d regrown his bones. Bandages were wrapped around his chest, reaching upwards to his shoulder. They covered the entire slope from his neck to his armpit, and had they been made from leather or metal it would have looked similar to an armour chestpiece.

Unfortunately, even if he’d been wearing armour it wouldn’t have done him much good. 

A memory came unbidden, of the monstrous lycan baring its teeth above him. Severus flinched despite knowing he was safe now, that the werewolf in question was on the other side of the castle grounds and in no condition to be threatening anyone. He was safe, at least for now. He knew it. He was safe.

So why was his heart beating so harshly in his chest?

Suddenly he couldn’t stand to look at the white gauze. He tried to rip it away with his fingers but it wouldn’t budge. Frustrated and feeling like he was going to suffocate with that thing wrapped around his chest he took his wand and turned it on the bandages.

“ _Diffindo_ ,” he whispered and the cloth obediently ripped itself along the line he drew with his wand. He dropped his wand on the ground, something he wouldn’t have done in a hundred years if he’d been in his right mind, and ripped the bandages off.

And immediately wished he hadn’t. 

Severus couldn’t breathe.

Silver and dittany had sealed and healed the wound itself. Already a raw patch of skin had started forming over each hole and only the two biggest ones still had scabs. Scabs he’d ripped along with the gauze, because they were bleeding now.

Severus had known that Lupin had been far, far bigger as a wolf than as a man. But until he actually put his hand over the bleeding wounds that must have been left behind by fangs, he hadn’t realised just how much closer that size was to _bear_ than wolf.

Lupin’s fangs were more far apart than the length of his index finger, and half again as long.

And if he hadn’t turned around before Lupin bit him, they would have punctured his heart.

He would have died and it would have been better than what had actually happened to him.

He was bitten by a _werewolf._

Finally, Severus’ legs could no longer support him. He collapsed to the floor in nothing but his trousers and socks, heaving breaths shaking his skinny chest. He wanted to scream, trash and break his fingers clawing at his skin but he felt like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs to do any of that. 

Maybe the glass that separated the dungeons from the lake had broken. Otherwise why would he feel like he was _drowning?_

“Snape!!!” There came banging on the bathroom door. “Get out of there! Others need to piss too!”

“Bugger off!” Severus spat, “You can piss in your bed for all I care!”

There was an indignant screech from the other side, sounds of an argument and a muffled ‘fine’ from the other side of the door. “Snape,” that sounded like Avery, “We heard what happened. I told Mulciber to get off. We’ll leave you alone. But do try to get your shit together soon. If you’re not at dinner, I’m calling reinforcements.”

When Severus didn’t say anything Avery presumably left the dorm. Damn Avery and his stupid big brother complex. You’d think a bloke named Cain would be less inclined to baby those around him, but no. His younger brother, Abel Avery, he of unfortunate alliteration and connotations, had been sorted into Ravenclaw and thus found himself out of his elder brother’s immediate reach, for which Cain was less than pleased about. 

When Lucius was prefect, he’d purposely chosen to place Severus in the same dorm as Avery, in the hopes of pointing some of those instincts in his direction. It didn’t work as well as Lucius had hoped, because while Severus might be described as bookish, he was certainly not meek like Abel, and Cain’s attempts had proven largely misplaced. They did manage to form something that resembled a friendship if the chosen observer squinted, but Severus’ dirty blood and his insistence of staying friends with a Gryffindor Muggleborn had largely stopped Severus from rising in his dormmates esteem.

And that was when his blood was just dirty with his Muggle father’s legacy. What would they think now, with the werewolf bite like a brand on his skin?

_The werewolf bite._

Severus’ breath hitched and his chest constricted all over again. The _bite._ The exact thing that werewolves used to make more of their kind. Severus knew what that meant in the theoretical sense. But this was the first time he realised what that _actually_ meant. What it would mean come the next full moon.

_He was going to turn into that monster._

That realisation found Severus’ limits and barrelled over them with all the force of a flock of dragons through a silk curtain.

The room began to spin, and the last thing Severus remembered was the bathroom tiles getting suspiciously closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hard month for me, so here's some angst.


	5. Remus

Remus woke up in pain. That wasn't unusual.

What _was_ unusual, was the sheer magnitude of it. He felt like a meteorite had fallen from the heavens and straight on his head, only his werewolf blood had not granted him the mercy of death. Merely thrown him into the purgatory that attempted to cleanse him of sin through pain. 

Or maybe that was just his mother’s Christian upbringing showing its unwanted head.

But the situation became even weirder when, before Remus could remember in even the vaguest sense what had happened, there was one word ringing through his head like a school bell, on a constant and incessant repeat, calling his attention to something he should not have forgotten.

If only he could discern what it _was._

That one word, ringing and screaming for attention, trying to tell him something important, and Remus needed to be awake right this moment but his body was warring with his brain, instinct versus instinct, and for now the body was winning.

Until suddenly it wasn’t.

Both James and Peter, they of largely prey nature in their animal forms, screamed bloody murder when Remus abruptly opened his eyes and shot out of bed in the same instant. 

Remus didn’t, couldn’t hear them. He strode towards the infirmary exit like a man on a mission, his head ringing so badly it was wonder his eyeballs weren’t vibrating. He needed to go out there, _now,_ he needed to find-

“Moony!” Sirius ran up before him and pushed him back, “Moony, calm down! You’ve been out of it for two days, you need to-”

Remus growled so loudly Sirius visibly wilted. If he had a tail it would have been tucked between his legs. The submissive display calmed something in Moony and Remus grabbed the reins as hard as he could, forcing his human mind to the forefront. But the mental strength required to keep the wolf at bay left him with little energy to focus on his legs.

Thankfully, Sirius also provided a soft landing.

“What was that about?” James asked shakily once they’d managed to carry Remus back to the bed.

“I don’t know,” Remus told him in between panting breaths, “I don’t know. What happened? I can’t- I barely remember- _What did I do?”_

Because it was something. Memories always took a day or two to come back after a transformation, but Sirius said it had already _been_ two days, why was he only waking up _now?_

Oh Merlin, they’d done it, hadn’t they? Remus told them it was a stupid idea to go running through the Forbidden Forrest, and they’d promised they wouldn’t let him out again, they’d _promised._

“Hey, hey, Remy, calm down,” James took his hands and rubbed his palms, “We’ll tell you everything, but you need to calm down first.”

“Here,” Peter said and there was suddenly a muffin shoved into Remus’ mouth, “You can’t panic and chew at the same time.”

“Listen to Peter, Remy, he’s the expert around here,” Sirius chimed in, though he looked like he was hanging by a thread as well.

So Remus forced himself to take a deep breath and eat his muffin. It was a chocolate muffin, and it was delicious, and the moment it was gone another was shoved into his hands. Remus ate that too, and finally felt like he would actually stay inside his skin even if he started moving.

Remus took another deep breath, just in case. “What happened? Please tell me you didn’t let me out again, did someone see me? Did-,” Remus compulsively swallowed, “Did I hurt somebody?”

Remus wanted to beg them to say ‘no, of course not’. To dismiss his worries and tell him he felt so awful because he ran into a wardrobe and crashed it on top of his idiotic furry head. That he felt so out of sorts because it turned out mixing Firewhisky and lycanthropy was a bad idea and they would never do it again.

They did none of those things.

Peter looked down at the bed and started wringing his hands. James and Sirius looked at each other helplessly, until James glared at Sirius and made a pointed gesture at Remus. Sirius flinched violently and looked away.

It was answer enough.

“Who?” Remus asked plaintively. 

“Snape,” Peter finally answered when both James and Sirius refused to move.

Remus’ entire gut did a backflip and tried to wrestle its way out through Remus’ throat when Peter said that name. 

Of course it was Snape. Because as much as Remus hated it, he had accepted it as truth: he was Moony and Moony was him. Different sides of the same coin, or in his case, brain. Moony knew what Remus knew. They’d been after Snape for so long that Moony picked up on it, that it crossed the barrier between one consciousness and the other.

So if Snape was out in the Forbidden Forest, serving detention or sneaking around, and Moony caught wind of his scent…

“Is- Is he-?” Merlin, Remus couldn’t even ask. He was shaking so hard the bed was shaking along with him.

“He’s alive, he’s alive!” James hurried to reassure him, “He left the infirmary the first morning, honestly he’s better than you were.”

The words should have helped, they really should have, but Remus was still trying to force his entire digestive tract to stay inside his abdomen. Something happened, something _so horrible,_ it was bleeding from Moony’s memories into his.

He could taste blood in his mouth. He prayed that it was his own.

“He’s just…,” James shifted around uncomfortably, “Really, he’s fine now, hexed me in the hallway just today, we’re actually here because Madame Pomfrey had to fix my nose, he’s fine, he’s just- Well-”

“He’s going to have the same furry problem you do,” Sirius finally blurted out, “Yeah, and Dumbledore is making him room with us in the Shack from now on. I couldn’t even tell which one of us liked that idea less, but hey! We’re all still here! Means we didn’t screw up as bad as we could have!” Sirius said with a reluctant, unsure grin.

Distantly, Remus could see Peter dropping his face into his hands and shaking it. But it was getting more and more distant by the second, and Remus barely registered that James had smacked Sirius upside the head, the giant black spots clouding his vision were rather distracting. 

Ah, that word was back, ringing in a fever pitch inside Remus’ head, beating on the inside of Remus’ skull like it was trying to find a way out. Ringing, ringing, and his stomach was rising again, and Remus wondered which one would find his mouth first, the word or the bile.

Remus quickly leaned over the side of the bed and upchucked everything he had ever eaten in his life. In fact, it felt like his stomach itself had decided on eviction, along with every major organ in his abdomen.

There was indistinct yelling around him, but Remus heard none of it. Without his nausea to distract him the word ringing became clearer and cleared, until it could almost be distinguished as English.

In between one heave and the next, amongst hands pulling him up and spells being shot at him, Remus Lupin could comprehend only one word, one concept, one image of the black fur in his teeth, one day a month away.

_Cub._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, I'm writing a chapter for TWN and it's currently at 7k because I'm a disaster who doesn't know how to stop, and I needed a break with something I can actually aspire to finish. 
> 
> So, here you go. Remus wakes up and wishes he hadn't.


	6. James

James was going to fix this. He didn’t have even half an idea how, or even where he was going to start, but by Morgana’s left tit he was going to  _ fix this. _

And, alright, he didn't have much idea where to start, except the _obvious_ one, but Gryffindor or no James still needed a day or two to steel his nerves enough to actually put that plan into action. But every time he did gather his sturdier nerves and actually spring into action, he either missed him or he managed to end up in the infirmary.

Six times. _Six._ Madame Pomfrey was starting to wonder if he had a death wish.

To be fair, he probably did, because his two days of preparation were up, and it was time to try again.

“Snape, wait up!” James ran after him, and shit but somehow Snape had gotten bloody _fast._ He moved so quickly he practically left an afterimage.

By the time he turned a corner, Snape’s robe fluttered on the other side of the corridor.

“Shit,” James ran his hands through his hair. Another miss. He was starting to prefer being hexed.

After the full moon, er, _incident,_ it was like Snape had become a ghost. But not the Hogwarts ghost, but like… One of those unanchored spirits that haunted places that couldn’t hold them, increasingly desperate not to be pulled into the afterlife.

Snape looked like one of those if it had decided to possess a corpse and walk around. 

It had been almost three weeks already, but James had not heard him say a single word. _At all._ He no longer appeared in the great hall, and half the time didn’t even appear in class. The only place he could be found with any consistency was the Restricted Section of the library. James had a feeling he knew what Snape was doing there. 

And if the bloody idiot would actually stop and _talk_ to him without hexing certain relevant appendages off, James could tell him that he, Sirius and Peter had already gone through that back when they figured out where Remus disappeared off to every month. 

There was nothing there. Snape was wasting time he couldn’t afford to waste. They needed to organise, and he needed to know what to expect come the next full moon, which was in less than a  _week._

James could help, he _wanted_ to help, but to do that he needed to get within ten feet of Snape without dodging curses that could take off his bollocks if fired incorrectly. Or, knowing Snape, fired _correctly_.

Forget Madame Pomfrey, _Sirius_ was starting to think he had a death wish. 

And that… Was another tank of Grindylows James was trying very hard not to look at, much less open. 

Sirius’ idea of coping was to pretend nothing happened. He had taken it upon himself to be the morale officer of the group, to try and keep everyone’s spirits up, but his act was wearing thin, fast. Even Peter didn’t have the wherewithal to actually laugh at one of his jokes anymore.

And Remus was…

If Snape was a ghost haunting his own dead body, Remus was a living man possessed by a ghost. After Peter had managed to fill him in on the events that actually happened that night, he had taken to pretending Sirius was nothing more than an irksome fly buzzing around. He did not respond to anything he said, he did not get near him and he did not look at him. 

No, the looking was reserved mostly for Snape, every Defence and Potions class Slytherins and Gryffindors had together. Well, staring would be more like it if Remus’ self-control was anything less than what it was. But if his attention wandered for even a moment, his eyes would land on Snape, then he’d realise what he was doing and snap back to his book, face pale and jaw clenched in something that looked disturbingly like fear.

It was likely why Snape avoided the great hall and barely showed up to class.

Remus was also sleeping terribly, tossing and turning most of the night and sometimes waking up either growling or whimpering. James had started crawling into his bed when that happened and letting Remus cling to him hard enough to almost suffocate him. It was usually Sirius’ job, to soothe the Moony nightmares, but it was painfully clear what was going to happen if he tried that now, so James took the mantle upon himself for now.

Honestly, out of the four of them, Peter was handling it best.

“I’m used to feeling like this,” Peter had admitted when James asked how he was keeping his head, “Like something had gone horribly wrong, or is going to any minute. It’s not called ‘generalised anxiety’ for nothing. So I learned how to handle it better. I can show you some tricks, if you want?”

Those tricks, as Peter had called them, were pretty much the only reason James was functioning past the crushing sense of guilt. But he needed to be functioning right now, and he was a Gryffindor, dammit! His friends needed him, and whether Snape wanted to admit it or no, he needed help as well and the only one currently qualified was James, so he was going to suck it up at some point and actually talk to him!

Easier said than done…

“James,” Sirius whispered hesitantly when they were in History of Magic, “Look, you know I understand Gryffindor stubbornness better than anyone, but… If even I think you’re overdoing it-”

“I’m fixing your mess,” James bit out, “You’re the last person who should be trying to stop me.”

“I’m not trying to stop you, I’m trying to redirect you,” Sirius insisted with a pointed toss of his head in Remus’ direction, “Remy’s doing really badly, and he’s mad at me right now, and yes, alright, it’s absolutely justified, but with me out of the running Remy needs everyone in his corner. Including you, but you keep insisting on getting yourself stranded in the infirmary!” Sirius’ expression turned incredulous, “Is this some kind of guilty repentance thing?”

James loved Sirius, he really did, but sometimes he was left breathless by how emotionally stunted he was. James had worked through his ‘Oh Merlin, this can’t be happening’ phase back in the infirmary, when he spent the night hopelessly hoping Snape would keep breathing. 

Sirius was so far down in denial he was meeting crocodiles, and James could only hope he was going to come back up before he ran out of air.

“No,” he finally said, “It’s not a ‘guilty repentance’ thing. It’s about owning up to your mistakes and _fixing_ them.”

“If you want to fix Snape I think I’m supposed to inform you you’re a little late to the party,” Sirius told him, “Evans has been at it since before they came to Hogwarts, and even she threw in the towel ages ago.”

James flinched violently at the reminder of _why_ Evans threw in the towel. 

As a general rule, the Marauders’ pranks weren’t malicious. Inconveniencing, yes, and sometimes uncomfortable, but never something that merited more than a five minute trip to the infirmary to remove someone’s antlers and return their appendages to regular size. The point of pranks was to make people laugh, after all.

Snape managed to be the exception to that rule, as he always was. James did not think of himself as cruel, but looking back there was no other word to describe what they did to Snape. There was always the umbrella excuse that the vicious, Slytherin Death Eater-wannabe deserved it, but whether that was true or not it didn’t change the fact that _their_ actions were something good people wouldn’t do to _anyone._

It occurred to James that he might have a lot more to fix than just the last full moon.

In a move that was becoming a habit, James picked up his quill and started drawing figure eights in between the paragraphs of his notes. Draw slowly and steadily, inhale for one eight, exhale for one eight. Repeat and repeat and repeat until his heartrate went down and the guilt was no longer eating away at his insides. 

Sirius watched shrewdly. He probably recognised the quirk from Peter, since his notebooks and textbooks were all full of strange doodles he drew while doing the exact same breathing exercises. But they worked, and thank Merlin they did, otherwise James didn’t know how he would handle everything that was happening. 

Five days until the full moon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That thing James is doing is a legitimate exercise to calm anxiety. I remember a Tumblr post with several similar exercises I like to use and I'll reblog it when I find it.


	7. Peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling sick and miserable, but I have a tablet with a bedstand and a wireless keyboard and I'm going to make that everyone else's problem.

Remus was fidgeting like he was sitting on hot coals. Peter would have put it down to standing at the base of the Whomping Willow, but seeing as Peter was currently a rat and literally sitting on the knob that rendered the Willow immobile, it was probably more because the full moon was about half an hour away and Madame Pomfrey was supposed to bring Snape to them soon.

Remus was, understandably, an anxious wreck. 

He was handling it pretty well, in Peter’s humble opinion. As a rat, Peter’s sense of smell was so strong he could smell every single drop of nervous sweat that beaded on Remus’ forehead. A few experiments showed that, when they were human, Remus had the best nose out of them, but as animals Peter beat every single one of them hands down. 

One of the few perks of his Animagus form being a rat, he supposed. When the meditation part of the process showed Peter the view from the ground, with whiskers wider than he was and front teeth longer than his tongue, Peter had thought his animal form would be a field mouse. A little embarrassing, that he would be something so small, but it did fit into his desire to go through life unnoticed.

When it turned out to be a common rat, Peter had been miserable for a month.

A _rat._ A pest that was disgustingly common, and generally disgusting in every sense of the word. Peter had laid face down on the bed and miserably told his friends that they better go to the Shack without him, the only good he would do to Moony was as a snack. 

Sirius laughed at his misery and jumped on the bed until Peter was bounced straight onto the floor. Then he put an arm around his shoulders and started making a dramatic list of things Peter could do as a rat that nobody else in Hogwarts could do. For some reason, looking up girls’ skirts without being called a pervert was the first on the list, but that was Sirius for you.

James had taken to using him as a wingman. His favourite thing to do was put him on top of his head and go up to Evans and tell her: ‘Hey, remember when you called my hair a rat’s nest? I listened to your advice.’ Evans had actually caved and asked to pet him once, which felt very nice and sent James straight for the clouds that Evans was within three feet of him without cursing him and hexing him. He’d given Peter a whole bag of Honeydukes sweets as a thank-you.

But Remus was actually the one who put him at ease. He had gotten Peter a book about pet rats, and it turned out that, their bad reputation aside, rats were actually pretty cool. Their sense of smell was one of the best in the animal kingdom, outdone only by bears and sharks. They were social, gregarious creatures, and were actually less aggressive than mice. They were very smart, and Muggle scientists learned a lot about human behaviour from rats. 

Moony had no trouble accepting Wormtail, as they had feared. In fact, he was the first one accepted, precisely because he was so unthreatening. Wormtail was riding on Moony’s back when Padfoot was still trying to convince Moony that he really wanted to be his friend and wasn’t there as a contender for his territory. 

Peter was really lucky to have friends like them. 

Even if they got into horrible messes all the time.

He recognised Madame Pomfrey’s scent, disinfectant and potions and chamomile tea, and reared up on his hindlegs to squeak. Remus nearly jumped straight up into the Willow’s branches. Then he noticed Pomfrey approaching and hurriedly picked up Peter and put him in the hood of his robe. 

Peter climbed up the folds of the hood to peer at the incoming pair.

Madame Pomfrey looked and smelled a lot like Remus, emotion-wise. Nervous and regretful and like she would prefer to be doing literally _anything_ except what she was doing right now. Namely, leading Snape to the Shack with an arm around his shoulders, looking like she was the only thing keeping him upright.

She probably was, because when Snape got close enough the only thing Peter could smell of him was the Draught of Peace. Literally that and nothing else. Peter’s potions skills could be summed up by ‘can follow recipe correctly’, but even he knew that meant that Snape wasn’t just drugged, he was stoned out of his mind. It was a wonder he was still standing, much less actually walking.

Remus must have noticed, because his heartrate spiked and a distinct tinge of despair changed his scent. There was also something Peter didn’t recognise, but he had a feeling it had to do with whatever happened to Moony after he bit Snape, and why he’d been acting downright creepy since then.

Peter had a sinking feeling they were going to find out whether they liked to or not.

“Mr. Lupin,” Madame Pomfrey greeted, “Do you think you can take it from here?”

“Maybe,” Remus admitted with a grimace, “Um, is he-?”

“Three of my best potions down for the count? Yes,” Pomfrey told him with a similar grimace on her face, “It was either that or drag him here screaming.”

Moony flinched so hard he nearly dislodged Peter from his place. “Are- Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“No,” Pomfrey was blunt, “I think this is the worst idea Dumbledore has ever had. Merlin only knows what he was thinking, but he was insistent that the two of you would be safe under the same roof. But I see even you can’t guarantee that.”

“I can’t guarantee _anything,”_ Remus’ voice bordered on desperate, “I don’t know what will happen. I’m flying totally blind here.”

Pomfrey bit her lip. She looked like she was two seconds away from either hugging Remus or throwing Snape over her shoulder and high-tailing it back to the castle. Or possibly punching Dumbledore in the face. 

In the end, she did none of those things, but gently pushed Snape towards Remus. And for the first time that night, Snape was showing signs of actually resisting her. Considering three vials of the Draught of Peace would be enough to overdose a normal human of his weight, Peter could only imagine what was going through his head.

Remus was practically vibrating with how hard he was shaking. Hesitantly, he reached out for Snape’s hand, but even stoned it was obvious Snape wanted to be as far away from him as possible. He took a hasty step back, and if Pomfrey hadn’t caught him he probably would have fallen on his arse.

“I’m really sorry,” Remus said plaintively, “But we really don’t have much time left.”

Instead of his hand, he took Snape by the sleeve of his robe and gently but insistently pulled him along towards the Willow entrance. 

Some awareness returned to Snape’s face, just barely enough to let the fear bleed through. He looked back at Pomfrey, eyes wide and desperate. 

“Please don’t make me go,” he whispered.

Pomfrey’s hands twitched upward, as if she wanted to take him back, but then she looked upwards away from them, no doubt at the quickly setting sun and the full moon already hovering in the sky, and apologetically shook her head.

Remus tugged harder. Snape let out a strange whine that had Remus twitching, then grabbing him insistently around the wrist. He pulled Snape down whether he liked it or not, and Snape had neither the energy or the mental faculties to resist. 

And so he was pulled down into the belly of the beast.

Peter would have normally reminded Remus he was there and asked to be put down, but every instinct he had was telling him to lay low and stay silent. Remus’ scent indicated that, for him, the transformation had already begun. He couldn’t smell anything past the Draught from Snape, but he had a feeling they weren’t on the same page. 

When they came to the Shack, Sirius and James were already waiting for them, both of them in underwear and bathrobes, because the more clothes you wore the harder it was to make them transform with you. When they had first mastered the Animagus transformation Sirius and James had ripped a lot of clothes. It also made transforming back somewhat embarrassing. Ergo, the bathrobes.

“Hi, Snape,” James greeted plaintively. When Snape just stared at him blankly he turned to Remus, “Um, is he-?”

“Drugged up to his eyeballs,” Remus said curtly, and funnily enough Peter couldn’t smell any of his earlier anxiety. He couldn’t decide whether that was a good or a bad thing. 

“Ah,” James made a face. Then it morphed into a carefully gentle smile as he took Snape by the other hand, “Come on, you can change in the other room. Right this way, I’ll give you a bathrobe. You don’t want to rip your clothes while you’re in them, trust me. Here, come on, promise I won’t look.”

James spoke to him like Snape was a frightened woodland animal and James was a Disney princess. If Snape was anywhere near his right mind James would probably be missing teeth right about now. As it was, he let himself be led away with a blank expression and no resistance. 

The entire time, Remus watched with an intensity that would have frightened Peter had it been aimed at him. He was quite frankly surprised that Remus let Snape go, much less let him get out of his sight. 

“Moony?” Sirius asked carefully, head tilted to the side and shoulders low. Like he was trying to make himself seem smaller yet open. “Is that you?”

Remus startled a bit at those words. Then he seemed to remember Peter was still in his hood and put his hand palm up on his shoulder, and Peter gladly took the lift down. He transformed and went to stand next to Sirius, because it never hurt to be behind the first line of defence.

“Not yet,” Remus finally answered, somewhat unsure of the answer, “But he’s… _closer._ To the surface. And it- He-,” Remus gave a helpless laugh, “God, I’m starting to feel schizophrenic.”

Ah. That would explain a few things. Remus had described it as ‘taking a backseat’ in his own mind before. He could see what he was doing, and he was aware of his actions, but those actions weren’t the result of his own choices. They were driven by something far more primal and enraged. It happened sometimes, usually the day before and sometimes after the full moon. It was subtle, and not very pronounced when it was just four of them, those Moony considered his ‘pack’, and usually Sirius was rather good at figuring out when Remus was not entirely himself.

But these were not normal circumstances. Moony was fighting Remus for _something,_ something Remus very much did not want to do. And tonight, Moony was going to win.

No wonder Remus was scared out of his wits.

The doors to the bedroom opened and James led Snape out by the hand. Snape, now in a black bathrobe, placidly let himself be led and sat down in one of the chairs around the coffee table. Peter wondered if the Draught was going to influence his behaviour as a wolf. Remus said potions generally didn’t affect werewolves, at least not if they were administered in normal quantities, but Remus had been a werewolf since he was five. Snape was newly made. Maybe the effects would carry over.

Well, they would see soon anyway. Judging by the time, the sun had already set. The transformation would begin any minute now. 

James opted to sit next to Sirius, fidgeting all the while. Remus had gone absolutely still again, hands clutching the armrests of his chair, and his eyes slowly shifting to amber. Peter didn’t even bother to sit down.

Usually, they would be talking. Joking, ribbing each other and trying to put Remus at ease. None of that seemed appropriate now, when Snape looked one blink away from catatonic and Remus was so quiet and still and creepily focused.

Peter wondered what he would find out if he transformed right now. What his nose would tell him. 

Snape whimpered suddenly, then bent over clutching his stomach. Remus growled and stood quickly, shedding his school robe in the same motion, revealing nothing underneath. His eyes turned amber and his claws started growing and his bones started cracking, except this time there was an echo of another set of bones shifting along with Remus’ own.

Snape screamed.

“And that’s our cue,” Sirius shot up and dragged James and Peter off the chairs and to the other side of the room. They quickly threw their robes away into a pile in the corner and transformed. Then waited. 

Snape had obviously burned through the potions already, because he seemed aware in a way he hadn’t been the entire evening. He barely had a moment to look at his surroundings in horror before his face was shifting into a muzzle. Black fur started sprouting all over his body and when his spine started elongating into a tail he fell to his knees, which quickly started shifting in a way that couldn’t support him. 

It was a far messier transformation than Remus’. Remus could practically transform standing, he was so used to the agony of it. But Snape fell to the floor and writhed like he was being tortured. Peter supposed it wasn’t far off. 

It was almost painful to watch. 

When it was done, where Snape once laid was a black wolf. Shorter muzzle and a fluffier tail, but otherwise Snape looked like a perfectly ordinary wolf. He wasn’t any bigger than Padfoot, and if it wasn’t for the difference in ears it would have been hard to tell them apart.

Moony, in a nearly comical contrast, was bloody gigantic, and noticeably better composed. Once he was fully transformed he dropped down to all fours and trotted over to Snape. Prongs started forward like he wanted to stop him, but all Moony did was sniff at him. He didn’t even bite Snape’s ear like he sometimes did with Padfoot.

Snape gave a full body twitch and rolled onto his belly. He looked up at Moony, their positions leaving them practically nose to nose. He froze in place while Moony seized him up and down. Peter, Sirius and James waited with baited breath.

Moony wagged his tail.

And Snape bloody _exploded._

Quick as lightning he shot up towards Moony and bit him on the face. Moony instinctively jumped back and tried to wipe at the wound with his paw. Snape took advantage of his distraction and ran off towards the exit doors. But they were warded well, probably even better since the last moon, and they didn’t budge no matter how hard Snape tried to get them open.

With a panicked whine, Snape turned to look at Moony.

Moony growled. To Peter, who was well familiar with the different meanings of various sounds Moony made, it was obvious it was a reprimanding growl. The same one Padfoot got at least once every full moon, telling Snape to behave.

Too late did it occur to them that Snape had no way of knowing that.

His tail went so far down between his legs it was pressed flush to his belly. His back arched and every single one of his teeth was bared in an obvious threat. Snape all but threw himself into one corner of the room, growling so loudly it seemed like his whole body was shaking from it.

Moony seemed stunned. He hesitated for a moment before approaching cautiously. With every step he made the growling got louder until Snape started barking. Moony finally stopped about five feet from Snape, obviously wary of getting bitten again but still trying to get closer. 

In the end he splayed his front legs and wagged his tail with his rump in the air, and obvious invitation to come and play. Snape, if anything, squeezed even further into his corner and barked louder. His ears were pressed down to his skull and his tail was all but invisible and his lips pulled back so far his molars were showing. He was trying to make himself as small as possible yet still threatening enough that Moony wouldn’t risk coming closer.

The poor, pathetic display was familiar in an uncomfortable way. It was hardly the first time the Marauders had cornered Snape, taunted him and bullied him, but every time they did they knew it had to be four on one, otherwise whoever went after him alone would get their arse trashed seven ways to Sunday. Snape was vicious, and he fought so hard it sometimes felt like _they_ were the ones barely escaping with their lives.

Now, the three of them were standing on the other side of the room awkwardly and Moony was doing everything in the book to try and not appear intimidating, yet for the first time in nearly five years they had been at school together, Snape was actually afraid of them. 

Peter looked at Padfoot and Prongs. Expressions didn’t translate well to dog and deer faces, but all Peter needed was his nose to tell him that they were discomforted as well. It was one thing to attack an armed boy who could send them to the infirmary without a word, and another thing entirely to kick a dog that’s already terrified of them. 

It wasn’t any different, really, since they the same person, but Peter didn’t fancy his chances trying to explain it to them. Purebloods stopped their emotional development right around the tender age of six, Remus had probably never seen other children in his life until he came to Hogwarts, and Peter was possibly the worst person on the _planet_ for trying to explain difficult concepts like decency and morality and treating your fellow man with dignity. Explaining things in general was definitely not his forte.

They’d figure it out on their own. Eventually. Probably.

Finally, Padfoot lost his patience and trotted up to Moony. Moony was getting irritated as well, that the new wolf did not want to play, and he didn’t look like he appreciated Padfoot coming up to him and nipping him to get his attention. Moony turned to him with his ears back and the ‘go away, can’t you see I’m busy?’ growl that Padfoot should really be familiar with at this point. But Padfoot, being Padfoot, splayed his legs with his rump in the air just as Moony had done in the beginning, in an obvious attempt to draw his attention away from Snape.

It worked, if only for a moment. But a moment was all Snape needed to catapult himself over Moony and run towards Prongs and Wormtail. They scrambled in different directions with a bleat and a squeak, and hoped Snape didn’t intend to take a bite out of them.

But instead of chasing them Snape crashed through the door that led to the bedroom, less than a second later followed by Moony and then by a bewildered Padfoot. The three of them exchanged a helpless look before trodding into the bedroom.

They found Moony lying down with his head under the bed, making a series of frustrated whine-growls. He tried to swipe the underside with his paw, but quickly retracted it when something underneath the bed made a loud snapping noise. 

It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. The bed was secured with a Permanent Sticking Charm. Moony was far too big to fit under the bed. Snape was not. 

Padfoot made an odd sniggering noise and tried to push Peter towards the bed with his snout. Peter, who was starting to think he was the only one with even an ounce of common sense here, scrambled out of Padfoot’s reach and climbed up ontop of Prongs’ head. Padfoot shot him an unimpressed look and went to the other side of the bed to try and chase Snape over to Moony’s side. 

Moony obviously realised what he was doing, as his tail started thumping against the floor. But so did Snape, because he crawled away from them until his back was pressed to the wall under the headboard. When Prongs knelt down to see what was happening, Snape had turned his tucked-down tail towards Moony and his bared teeth towards Padfoot, who _was_ small enough to crawl under the bed, and was just now trying to figure out how to do it.

Peter hoped Snape wouldn’t bite Padfoot. Sirius wouldn’t be turned if he did, at least as long as he remained in his Animagus form until the werewolf venom was flushed out of his system, but he would be left with a nasty scar. Not that it would deter Sirius, but it would hurt and it would be a little hard to explain.

Finally, when Snape’s barking reached a strange pitch that made Peter’s guts squirm uncomfortably, Prongs had had enough as well. He’d shed his velvet in early October and his antlers were wickedly long and pointed. He poked them into Padfoot’s side, just enough to startle him into knocking his head against the underside of the bed. Padfoot crawled backwards and glared at Prongs, but for once Prongs wasn’t having it. He pushed at Padfoot insistently until he got him away from the bed and to the other end of the bedroom.

Padfoot looked at them both like they’d lost their minds, but it didn’t escape Peter that Snape had finally stopped his hysterical barking and only emitted a low growl when Moony managed to swipe too close to him. 

There was really no stopping Moony, and Prongs obviously didn’t fancy his chances with trying to shoo away a wolf three times his size, but the bed was reinforced with an Impervious charm, just like everything in the Shack, so as long as it was only Moony trying to get to him Snape was relatively safe. 

Padfoot made it clear he didn’t like any of it by lying down in a huff and a sullen air about him. Prongs looked from Padfoot to Moony to the darkness Snape was hiding in, heaved a sigh and just tucked himself into Padfoot’s side.

Moony let out a startled yip when Snape managed to snap at his paw. That only resulted in growling and Moony redoubling his attempts to uproot the whole bed and get to the wolf underneath it.

Peter tucked himself into Padfoot’s fur as well and joined them in watching the spectacle.

It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like it to be known that Remus knows shit-all about actual schizophrenia, but then Peter knows about as much as he does.


	8. Severus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning: Some suicidal thoughts in this chapter.** Tags have been updated appropriately.

The morning sun dawned not with a bang, but with a whimper.

When awareness finally decided to grace the mind of Severus Snape, he wished she had stayed the fuck away.

He came to naked, cold, curled up in a fetal position on the floor underneath an unfamiliar bed, covered in cold sweat and in absolute _agony._ Every single joint in his body, from the knuckles of his fingers to the sutures of his skull, felt like it was on fire. When he tried to uncurl his fingers from his arm he found it a slow and laborious process that left his fingers uselessly shaking. The area he was in was dark yet the slightest bit of light coming from under the door on the other side of the room felt like someone was stabbing him in the eyes with a paring knife. Worse, he had no idea _how he’d gotten there._

In his experience, not knowing what you did to cause you pain was just a path to more pain.

He shut his eyes tight and pressed his forehead to his knees, curling as small as he could. He needed to think, needed to remember how he got here and how to get _out._ He bit his tongue to keep quiet, but it didn’t help any, he could still hear _whimpering,_ and shit he could tell he wasn’t alone here, _he was going to be found out-_

“It’s okay, Remy, it’s okay,” Black’s voice sounded above him, gentle in a way Severus had never heard before, “Come on, up you get. Night’s over, time to rise and shine. Here, come on, the bed’s right there, and the monster underneath doesn’t even bite anymore.”

“ _Sirius!”_ someone hissed. It sounded vaguely like Potter, “ _He’s right there!”_

The bed above him creaked as someone sat down at the edge. The sound was soft and normally wouldn’t bother him, but with his head pounding and his entire body hurting it was like someone was dragging nails down a chalkboard. Iron ones.

“Oh, lighten up, Prongs,” Black said whimsically but still quietly, “Here your pants, Remy. Technically speaking, the night was a success.”

“What?” Lupin’s voice sounded raspy, “What did I do? Where’s Snape?”

“Calm down, Remy, he’s fine. Hips up. He’s hiding under the bed, been there the entire night. Turns out your fears were unfounded. All Moony wanted was to play, and Snape turned out to be the aggressive one. That bite on your chin is him getting even, I reckon.”

“More like being terrified out of his mind,” that sounded like Pettigrew, “I don’t blame him. For some reason he’s closer to Padfoot’s size than yours.”

“Probably because he’s fresh out the cauldron. Here, arms up. No, Remy, that’s where the arm goes.”

“I didn’t hurt anyone?” 

“Nah. We didn’t even need to be here. Moony was tamer than a puppy. A little miffed his new roommate didn’t want to play but nothing that would have required our intervention. I told you Dumbledore knows what he’s talking about.”

The words slowly penetrated the fog of Severus’ mind. They were talking about him. Talking about him like he wasn’t there, which he was at least used to, but it didn’t make him feel any better about the situation. He tried casting his mind back, to figure out what the situation even  _was._

He remembered Madame Pomfrey coming to collect him, telling him it was time to go to the Shack, as per Dumbledore’s plan. Severus had nearly thrown up at those words, the very idea that he would be going back to _that place_ , and that he would be locked _in there._ He turned so embarrassingly hysterical Pomfrey had to drag him to the infirmary and hand him phial after phial of the Draught of Peace until he couldn’t see straight through the lassitude clouding his mind. 

The memories were foggy from there, and he vaguely remembered not the sight but the _scent_ of Lupin, carried on the breeze from the Forbidden Forest, unsure how he could smell it at all. He remembered the fear that gripped his very soul just fine, and it soon turned into pain and a voice screaming in his head to run _runRUN-_

“Snape?” Potter’s voice sounded uncertain and far too close for Severus’ peace of mind, “Um, you okay down there?”

Severus flinched and curled up tighter. He wanted to tell Potter to shove his concern where the sun didn’t shine but he couldn’t manage the words. His throat felt sandpapered raw, like he’d been screaming at the top of his lungs the entire night. 

“Er, don’t you want to come up?” Potter asked, “It can’t be comfortable down there. And we got Painkiller Potions here. And your clothes.”

Clothes. Right. Because he was _naked._ In front of the four people who had taken great delight in dangling him upside down and stripping him of his pants in front of half the school. If Potter wanted him to come out he had another thing coming.

“Snape? Are you alri- Okay, stupid question, er… Can you come out on your own?” Potter sounded even closer and Severus flinched in reflex. If he could just _stop shaking_ he could tell him to get lost and kick him in the face if the idiot didn’t get the hint.

“Shit, Wormtail, can you go down there and check on him? I think something’s wrong.”

“...if you’re sure.”

There was an odd shift in the atmosphere just as Severus was wondering what Potter’s pet rat was doing there. There was something that felt like a relevant memory nagging at his consciousness when he heard cautious skittering approaching him.

With great effort, Severus opened his eyes.

There was indeed a rat standing about a foot from his face, whiskers twitching in his direction. Something about the beady black eyes and the nervous look of the rat pulled the nagging memory to the forefront of his mind, and with a piercing pain came a realisation.

“ _Pettigrew,”_ Severus hissed with bared teeth.

The rat squeaked loudly and shot in the other direction like he’d been hexed right in the tail. The atmosphere shifted again and Pettigrew’s shaky voice came not a moment later. 

Animagus. Severus couldn’t believe it. _Pettigrew_ was an _Animagus?_ In what universe was that even possible? That was above NEWT-level Transfiguration, and Pettigrew trembled like a leaf in the storm at the mere whisper of McGonagall’s name. Potter was decent at Transfiguration, but-

_ The stag _ . A ten-point red deer, looming over him along with a tawny wolf. Another one, all black, trying to get to him where he was hiding and Severus didn’t know them, didn’t know where he was or what _those_ were but he knew he _had to run, had to hideHIDE **HIDE**_

“Fuck it, I’m going down there,” Potter’s voice came through the fog of sheer, unadulterated panic, then there was the hideous mop of hair attached to Potter army crawling towards Severus with something clenched in his fist. 

Severus reacted before his brain had the time to give its input. He reared back on his elbows and knees and _snarled_ at Potter, then continued at a low growl when the bespectacled boy froze.

“Okay, maybe I spoke too soon,” Black said as he hunkered down to look under the bed as well, “Still feeling like chewing on us a bit?”

“ _Sirius,”_ Potter moaned like Black’s words physically pained him, “Mate, please shut up.”

“I need to go,” Lupin abruptly got up from the bed, “I absolutely _cannot be here._ Oh God-”

“Here,” Pettigrew could be heard shuffling over, “Lean on me. Pomfrey gave me your potions, triple the dosage, bless her. Prepare to be smothered the moment we get there, she’s been worried sick…”

The voice faded beyond the door, along with the presence of a scent Severus only noticed in its absence. Almost involuntarily the rumbling in his throat ceased and fatigue made his shoulders sag just a fraction of an inch.

_ The danger had lessened _ , said a faint voice in Severus’ head,  _but it has not passed._

“Here,” Potter set a phial he’d been carrying on the floor and slowly pushed it towards Severus as far as the length of his arm would allow, just within Severus’ reach, “Painkiller. You must have a splitting headache right now, and at this concentration it works on werewolves. It’ll help.”

_ Oh,  _ Severus thought,  _That’s why._

_ How could I have forgotten? _

It was the full moon last night, and this time Lupin wasn’t the only one shifting with it. Severus’ hand landed shakily on his shoulder, where the scars from the bite were still angry and red, marking him as yet another monster. 

He couldn’t remember the night, not entirely, he just remembered being so goddamn _afraid,_ the kind of fear he hadn’t felt since he was a young boy and his accidental magic was acting up when his father was in the house. 

“Look, Snape,” Black said with exasperation in his voice, “Think logically for a minute there. If we wanted to poison you, we wouldn’t do it when we would be the only suspects, and definitely not when Madame Pomfrey is about ten minutes away from storming this place to make sure you’re still alive.”

“ _Sirius,”_ Potter moaned.

“Give us some credit. The potion really is just a Painkiller. Werewolf strength, as advertised,” Black continued, much to Potter’s dismay.

But his words did make sense, and Severus didn’t actually want to be in pain if it could be avoided. He eyed the phial Potter had pushed towards him, eyed Potter who was still on his belly under the bed and was looking at Severus pleadingly, eyed Black who looked impatient but was still restraining himself.

They were telling the truth. Severus had no idea how he could know that, but they were, and he knew. So he swallowed what was left of his pride and took the phial. It took him a few tries to open it with his unsteady fingers but once he managed to swallow the foul concoction the pain drained away from him like dirt under a shower. 

Well… All the pain except the one emanating from his scar. That thing hadn’t stopped hurting since it was made, heavily contributing to Severus’ lack of sleep.

“Okay,” Potter said hesitantly and started shuffling backwards, “Um, I put your clothes on the bed. We’ll be waiting in the sitting room, when you feel like joining us, and then we’ll go to Madame Pomfrey. She is a pro at this at this point, you’ll feel better once we get to the Infirmary.”

Severus wondered just who was Potter trying to convince here; Severus or himself.

But he didn’t ask and, with a hesitant backwards glance, Potter dragged Black into the sitting room and closed the door behind them. Then he turned around and started berating Black too low for Severus to make out the words. 

For his part, Severus’ breathing finally evened out.

Now that the adrenaline was done crashing through his system at breakneck speed, all he wanted was to lie down where he was and never again move an inch. He wished he could just stay still, and be forgotten in that house of monsters and ghosts, forever lie there in that spot until his bones turned to dust. 

It was such a lovely thought. 

But it was not yet his time to rest in peace, so he crawled out from under the bed like a nightmarish monster he was and got dressed. Someone had even folded his clothes, and the moment he went to pull them over his head he knew it was Pettigrew. He wondered why. Habit, perhaps, or a nervous tic. 

He decided it didn’t matter. 

He dressed slowly, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. Instead, he thought about the things he’d learned in the library, from ancient tomes on dark creatures to the more recent _Potions Monthly_ magazine Slughorn had delivered then handed off to Madame Pince when he was done with them. All of them said the same thing: there was no cure.

But the only thing keeping Severus even marginally afloat was the fact that, throughout history, people have _tried._ Every so often there would be a brilliant sorcerer or alchemist or potioneer whose loved one had strayed outside during the full moon, and they spent their time and knowledge and resources trying to find a cure.

They all ultimately failed, some even having been torn apart by the very person they were trying to save. Again and again, the story repeated itself in a gruesome cycle of grief and pain and death.

Severus had given up on a cure three days in. Not that he had given up entirely, but after three days of not sleeping and skipping class, he had stumbled upon the name of his future patron saint:

Damocles Belby.

He used to be Slughorn’s student, a promising one, so the issue he was published in was marked and set in a pile on the place of honour. It irked Pince something horrible that not all issues were placed in a chronological order, but seeing as it had saved Severus so much precious time he wasn’t about to complain.

Damocles Belby hadn’t even thought about finding a cure. No, he recognised early on that it was pointless, and instead set about trying to find a way to _tame_ the wolf. Not to turn a werewolf back into a human, but mollify the wolf inside like thousands of years of domestication had turned the vicious wolves into friendly dogs. 

Early testing had shown promise, Belby wrote, and the number of werewolves coming out of hiding to willingly participate in the trials that had the potential of saving them spoke of the humanity still within them. They were still people, Belby went on to insist, but people with a horrible disease that deserved treatment like everyone else. And once that disease was cured, or at least suppressed sufficiently, there would be no need to prosecute werewolves. And with the urge to bite suppressed, lycanthropy would die out peacefully with the last generation of infected weres, much like the Black Death or Muggle Small Pox.

The man was lucky he was a genius and made full use of Slughorn’s network, otherwise he would have been laughed out of his Guild years ago. 

Still, he’d published the results of his preliminary trials, along with the list of ingredients he’d used in his Wolfsbane Potion. Not the process or the amounts he’d used, of course, but Severus didn’t need any more. 

No, figuring out the recipe wasn’t the problem. He had no less than a dozen possible recipes, and five of them he’d thrown in improvements. But potion making was as much an art as it was a science, and he would have no way of knowing how his theory would fare in the real world without actually brewing and testing it.

For a start, the crucial ingredient was Wolfsbane. It was poisonous, and could only be purchased by a licensed Potions Master. Something Severus was at least three years away from becoming. Lucius had offered to pay for his Mastery if he did well in his OWLs and NEWTs, but that offer was made on the assumption he would join his little Death Eater club, and Severus knew what most of its members thought about werewolves. 

If Lucius found out about Severus’ new condition, the best he could hope for was that the Malfoy heir would keep his mouth shut. He was fond of Severus, for a reason he still hadn’t managed to figure out, but Severus didn’t kid himself in thinking that it would save him from the scorn once Lucius found out the truth.

Severus had three years to find a way to hide it. If he didn’t succeed in that time, he might as well drink a phial of Wolfsbane tincture and slit his own throat with a silver knife. Werewolf healing or no, those would be enough to kill him. 

But that was a contingency plan. Something to contemplate if all else failed. 

Severus had survived so far, despite all attempts to the contrary. He was a contrarian bastard, so he might as well use it to his advantage. If fate wanted him dead, it was going to have to try harder than that.

“Snape?” Potter knocked on the door, “Are you dressed? We need to get going. Classes begin in an hour, and Peter brought breakfast.”

“I’m coming, you pretentious prick,” Severus spat, “Don’t get your lacy knickers in a twist.”

“Okay,” Potter didn’t sound offended at that, unlike Black, whose sputtering could be heard even through closed doors, “But hurry up, the kippers are disappearing fast.”

Like it heard him, Severus’ stomach growled. He sighed, and pushed himself to his feet with some effort. The breakfast was worth enduring Potter’s and Black’s company, he supposed. 

But if Lupin was going to do his creepy psycho stalker act, Severus was bloody well going to hex a sausage straight up his arse.

**Author's Note:**

> New story! In my defense, I was left unsupervised...
> 
> So, yeah... I'm currently rewriting the outline for The Wizard's Nephew because I just now noticed a horrible plothole so an update on that front might be a while coming. So in the meantime, I cleaned up this little warmup to keep you occupied.
> 
> P.S. When I was trying to tag this story I found some tags about Snape that gave me a bloody heart murmur. I rather quickly backtracked. I'll tag this better when my blood pressure drops.


End file.
